


there is a leaf to cure it

by seventhstar



Series: a covenant with a bright blazing star [10]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Katsuki Yuuri, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Regency, Apologies, Forgiveness, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Omega Victor Nikiforov, Regency Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 02:51:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13941009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/pseuds/seventhstar
Summary: Two miles from Yu-topia, Yuuri is caught in the rain.The darkness is kept at bay by his lightning-fueled magelight, and the packages in his lefthand saddlebag are well-wrapped and spelled against the water. However, Yuuri, despite all his attempts, cannot block all of the torrential downpour with his magic and continuously harden the muddy road, and both he and poor Makkachin, riding in the righthand saddlebag, are well soaked by the time Yuuri reaches the front doors.[part of an ongoing series of fics, telling the story of poor and scandalous trademan's son viktor nikiforov's marriage of convenience to the reclusive lord katsuki]





	there is a leaf to cure it

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, the saga continues! From here on out there are two options: either I continue to update chronologically/wait until I have more of the middle written to update...or I can post the final scene, which I do have written already.

Two miles from Yu-topia, Yuuri is caught in the rain.

The darkness is kept at bay by his lightning-fueled magelight, and the packages in his lefthand saddlebag are well-wrapped and spelled against the water. However, Yuuri, despite all his attempts, cannot block all of the torrential downpour with his magic and continuously harden the muddy road, and both he and poor Makkachin, riding in the righthand saddlebag, are well soaked by the time Yuuri reaches the front doors.

_I ought to ask Viktor what spell he uses to keep dry,_ Yuuri thinks, remembering the way Viktor had diverted the rain that night he manipulated lightning. He has to stop at the stables first, so his horse can rest, and then he carries Makkachin into the front hall. While Yuuri shrugs off his dripping overcoat and wrings out his hat, she shakes off the water until the floor is soaked and she is only damp.

She is, in fact, a well-behaved and friendly dog. Yuuri had found her at a boarding house run by a family of four, where Makkachin slept by the hearth by night and allowed the two small children to ride her and chase her by day. The parents were sad to see her go, but had not protested and had even asked that Yuuri give their well wishes to ‘that good natured young man’. Ironically, Makkachin had taken to Yuuri immediately and happily followed him into the carriage. Perhaps she could smell Viktor on him.

She must detect Viktor’s presence now; while Yuuri is plucking at his wet shirt and fumbling with his armful of packages, she runs to the foot of the stairs and starts barking. Yuuri tries to hush her—the whole household will be sleeping—but then he hears a thump upstairs, like someone has knocked over furniture, or fallen out of bed.

Yuuri stands frozen like a complete fool as Viktor appears at the top of the steps, wrapped in Yuuri’s woolen dressing gown. He covers his mouth with his hands, and cries out Makkachin’s name and a number of impassioned phrases in his native tongue. Then he runs down the steps with stopping, or even using the banister, and falls onto his knees to take Makkachin into his arms.

Mouth open in astonishment—when he left Viktor was still struggling to walk up and down the halls without rest—Yuuri can only watch as Viktor peppers Makkachin’s head with kisses, cooing over her like she is still a puppy. Makkachin puts her paws on his shoulders and licks him furiously.

_I should go,_ Yuuri thinks, and he starts to walk away. But the water on the floor gives away the sound of his footsteps. Viktor looks up at him in surprise.

“Yuuri?”

“V-Viktor. I thought you were asleep.”

“I hear her barking.”

“Yes.”

“Did you go to town just to bring her?”

“Not just to bring her! I visited Minako so she could advise me about hairpins.” That had been an awkward conversation. Minako knew Yuuri too well, and it had taken all his powers of deception to avoid spilling the whole sordid story to her. Yuuri tries to unwrap his bundle of purchases without dropping them, fails, and has to catch them with his magic before he breaks them. He holds them in midair while he unearths the small box. “I bought these for you. For your hair.”

“Thank you,” Viktor says. “Yuuri, I—”

“I’m sorry!” Yuuri screams. He covers his face with his hands. Why is it so difficult for him to speak to Viktor normally? “I have been the most comprehensive and unmitigated ass. I have behaved dreadfully. I am an idiot. Please…um, please forgive me.”

“You are an idiot.”

Yuuri hangs his head.

“You will catch your death if you ride in the rain,” Viktor adds.

“I’m sorry to have gotten Makkachin wet. I did not want to wait for a carriage when I could be back tonight on horseback.”

“I would not have known the difference.”

“But I would,” Yuuri says.

Viktor buries his face in Makkachin’s fur again. When he lifts his head, Yuuri can see that he’s crying. He wipes at his eyes with his fingers. Yuuri bites his lip, sure that there is something he ought to say to be comforting, but entirely unable to imagine what that might be.

“You should go to bed,” he says, for lack of anything else. “You will fall ill again if you stay in this drafty hall.”

It takes some concentration, when he is so tired, but he manages to charm the air around Viktor warmer. The corner of Viktor’s mouth turns up. He gets up, or rather, he fails to get up; Yuuri can see his limbs trembling from the effort, and Makkachin whines at him in worry, but he remains collapsed on the floor.

_I can hardly leave him there all night,_ Yuuri thinks. He could call a servant, but it’s past midnight. It would be cruel. It would be unnecessary. _You just want an excuse to hold him._

“Here,” Yuuri says, and he kneels down on the wet floor. It makes no difference to him, his breeches are already drenched. “Put your arms about my neck.”

Viktor does, without hesitation. He is either very trusting, or very foolhardy. Yuuri does not have to use his magic to lift him, at least; Viktor is too light. His dry hair sticks to Yuuri’s wet neck as they start up the stairs. Makkachin follows closely behind. The bedchamber door is ajar, the covers thrown back; Yuuri sets him down on the bed carefully before turning to build up the fire.

The room warms. Vicchan, curled up on a footstool Yuuri keeps in the room for that exact purpose, starts at the entrance of another dog and hops down to get acquainted. While he and Makkachin nose at each other, Yuuri hangs the lighting lamp in its place. His dressing gown has been discarded; he hangs that up, too. The rest of the room is clean, and Yuuri has run out of plausible tasks to complete. The flowers in their vases have all wilted. He locks himself in the dressing room and strips gratefully out of his wet clothes.

He ought to dry them, but he is tired. He puts on a nightshirt and wraps himself in the cloak he sleeps in.

Viktor is tucked beneath the covers, Makkachin in his arms, when Yuuri dares to look at him again. Vicchan is sleeping on top of Viktor’s legs. Yuuri has a brief moment of jealousy, before he realizes he is wishing he were a dog and chastises himself.

“I can sleep in one of the other rooms, if you wish.”

“Stay.”

Yuuri nods. He climbs gingerly onto the bed, horribly aware of the creaking of the bed frame, and curls up to make himself as small and as far away from Viktor as possible.

“Yuuri.”

“Viktor?”

“You should lie under the covers,” Viktor says softly. “It is warmer.”

“But…”

“I forgive you.”

“Then,” Yuuri says eagerly, “we could…we could start again?”

How greedy Yuuri feels, asking for a second chance when he made such a mess of the first. But he cannot live with himself, if he simply resigns himself to abject cruelty as a part of his character. _I want to be better,_ he thinks, and he can only hope Viktor still wishes to salvage something out of the remaining year.

“I would like that,” Viktor says. His face is turned away, but Yuuri hears Makkachin whine, like perhaps Viktor is holding her tighter. Yuuri slides himself beneath the covers and buries his face in the pillow, heart pounding.

Tomorrow, Yuuri thinks, he will give Viktor the wrap he brought him, and the hairpins, and ask him if he would like Yuuri to read him Cowper. Surely Viktor must like Cowper’s poetry.

It takes him a long time to realize that the warmth in his chest is not just relief. It is also happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are much appreciated!


End file.
